(Cover is my art on all of my short stories. Please don't use it without permission.)

The young hunter's eyes narrowed at the deer before him. Beady black eyes full of life to be drained stood before him. He was hungry, and it was time to feed the pack. He crouched down in the grass, the long blades slicing through his silvery-white fur. His opalescent fur was exceptional for hunting in the winter, so even though he wasn't helpful for his pack in the summer and spring, he was the most essential wolf in the latter end of the year.

Paws traveled through snow, skimping out on the sticks and rocks that popped out every once in a while. The movement of the hunters was silent. He stopped when he noticed his prey's ears begin to swivel in his direction, and the deer's head began to lift. The wolf crouched down, and closed his eyes to remain hidden. He was only a block of snow in the eyes of the hunted. And that was the downfall of the deer.

The wolf bared his ivory-colored fangs, and lunged. His pack launched out of the snow, each one overwhelmed by the battering chill of hunger, and propelled by the frigid air that howled at them to go home.

There were no words needed; the pack was a team. And they moved as one. It was a body, with every part fulfilling its part. The omegas and deltas on the outer ring, acting as the hands of the body, and shifted each pawstep as they herded the deer toward the betas. The betas themselves were chasing the chosen deer; the injured and restless, the old and meek, the young and wild. The alphas, acting as the fangs of their body, went in for the kill. Weapons of mass destruction were borne in their mouths, and they knew how to use those powerful jaws. The pair were tireless, and never weary. They sprung, and the deer fell at the same time. It was glorious, and the pack finally had food to kickstart their winter survival.

When the wolves dragged their delicious meat back to the den, the pups came out into the snow. The little ones were struggling to move through the thick blanket of white that coated the earth. They were adorable, wide-eyed, and sweet. The wolf couldn't help but smile when the alphas had finished eating, and he himself shared with the pups.

Those sweet pups. Every killer had once been an innocent child, with no mind to sink teeth into flesh. Even the full grown wolves were like that at times, though. And every member in the pack had a proper place. The white wolf stared down at his paws, cleaned up from the sheen of red that had spilled from the deer. These pups that were now playing around in the snow would have their own places in the pack some day. He himself was a beta, and he couldn't wait to see what the others would grow up to be in the future.

The omegas kept the peace of the pack, allowing for everybody to have a good time, and have rest. The deltas were the best hunters, the most suppliant pack members, and they naturally behaved like any lone wolf; but in a pack. Just there to be there, but also caring for those they lived with. The betas kept wolves in check when the alphas were resting or out to hunt. The alphas, of course, led the pack, and kept every wolf safe, secure, and free. They were more than just leaders to everybody; they were mommy and daddy. Loving parents who cared for every individual in the pack. They were alphas for a reason.

But a wolf's chance of catching prey isn't always guaranteed. He would do his best to keep the pack, and especially the pups, alive and safe for now. And when they would grow? They, too, would lead the pack into a hunt. Because every wolf was the stomach of the body, and every pup had the chance to make a difference for those they loved. Come spring? They would learn to hunt; and the white wolf would be there to teach them.